


First Impression

by Cocohorse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Coffee Shops, F/M, Fluff, Mild Language, Mollcroft, One Shot, Soulmate-Identifying Timers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:26:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2017962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cocohorse/pseuds/Cocohorse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He rolled up his sleeve, hiding away the numbers. The middle-aged man, well into his forties, never played with love, and yet the universe was setting him up with the person he was to devote his life to."</p>
<p>On the day he is supposed to run into his soulmate, a worried Mycroft Holmes decides the best place to be when his timer goes off is at a nice, little cafe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Impression

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first completed fic, and my first fic on AO3, and it just so rightly happens to be my favorite pairing ever, Mollcroft!
> 
> A little note, though, while I was writing the majority of this, I had no idea that [xspica](http://archiveofourown.org/users/xspica) had already written, and still is writing, a Mollcroft fic, called [Counting Down](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1764982/chapters/3775411), revolving around soulmate timers as well. I talked to her asking if it was totally alright to post this, my own take on the soulmate timer for Molly and Mycroft, and she said it was completely fine. I bet it's a really lovely fic, since she always writes such amazing stories, and I will read it as soon as I can. I recommend you guys do too!
> 
> I was inspired to write this by a Sterek (Teen Wolf) comic I saw on my Tumblr dashboard the other day, but I can't find the link, so I apologize beforehand. :)
> 
> Thank you!

_00 y 000 d 02 h 00 m_

Two hours - exactly. He fell into the same morning routine he had kept up for years, and that routine felt like the only thing he had left as the minutes counted down. He woke up, brushed his teeth, and ate something quickly. Careful on his choices of food, he made sure that what he ate wouldn’t backfire on him later.

_00 y 000 d 01 h 47 m_

The metal spoon of milk and cereal flakes shivered under his clenched, unsteady hand, and the cereal kept spilling over until he stopped trying to eat. With anger and humiliation at himself, he shoved his chair back and returned the bowl and spoon, barely touched, back into the sink. Enough with food. There were more pressing matters.

_00 y 000 d 01 h 33 m_

The man went back into his bedroom and sat on his bed, his tired hand rubbing at his temple and his nervous right leg shaking up and down over the side of the bed. His mind, usually so cool and contained in his head, trembled with uncertainty and anticipation.

_00 y 000 d 01 h 31 m_

This was crazy.

_00 y 000 d 01 h 30 m_

Standing up, he opened his closet and took out his pre-made set of clothes, chosen precisely for this very occasion. For a day this special, he had to dress his very best. His battle armor consisted of his nicest three-piece suit, with all the appropriate additions, including his golden pocket watch, a blue tie, and a matching blue pocket square. When he glanced over himself in the mirror for the last time, he could see how visibly he was nervous. His hands, always so steeled and confident, were too warm, and his face, always so managed and keen, was pale and grim. He couldn’t take looking at himself anymore, and with one final check under the sleeve of his left forearm, he saw the small black numbers ticking away on his skin. Oh, the timers. He hated the timers.

Today, in just an hour and half, he was to meet - somehow - the love of his life. The rules were that the numbers in his arms counted down to when he was to run into the one person meant for him. It could be involve any variant of love. There were chances that it was the love between siblings or a child and a parent, but most likely, it was the love between two friends, and ultimately, partners. At his day and age, he knew his brother and his parents well, and he loved them very much too, but the timer on his arm knew better than him. There was still one person yet to meet.

He rolled up his sleeve, hiding away the numbers. The middle-aged man, well into his forties, never played with love, and yet the universe was setting him up with the person he was to devote his life to. He knew he couldn’t fight fate no matter what he tried. Whether he stayed in his house or went outside to work, to his parents’ house, to the city, anywhere - nothing would alter his meeting. The clock engraved in his arm was never wrong, and it was best to follow it.

With a heavy sigh, he picked up his phone and his favorite umbrella for the rain, ready to push himself out the door. Earlier, he had planned the best place to run into his soulmate. He toyed around the idea with going to a fancy party or to a conference, so there would be a chance his partner was intelligent and influential. A power couple, he would like to think, but after debate, he knew how risky it would be. Being with someone so high up and close to him, maybe from another country against Britain, was not a good mix. Of course, he had the option to just stay in his home all day, and maybe a nice gardener, personal assistant, or even post worker would just waltz into his home and life. But, he wondered, would the universe really want someone like him with them? A relationship between him and a public servant would be very problematic, and not just because their locations in life were so vastly different. He would mismanage them, and potentially throw them away for his work.

He always thought that his government work was his only love, despite the clock on his arm that was forever ticking for the past forty-so years. Sometimes, he heard, a person’s other partner could die, abruptly stopping the clock on the person’s arm. It happened occasionally, and those poor souls were left alone to find the next closest thing to love. For him, that would be the government itself, and sometimes he wished he didn’t have to deal with the whole “true love” business and just focus on his work.

_00 y 000 d 01 h 09 m_

What an unfortunate person his soulmate had to be to deserve him.

_00 y 000 d 01 h 08 m_

As he shrugged on his large coat and black leather gloves, his phone vibrated in his pocket, and he quickly took it out and opened it to read:

_Ready?_   
_A_

He let the word on the bright screen burn into his mind. _Ready._ He quickly typed back:

_Yes. Bring the car over._   
_MH_

With his umbrella open against the rain, he pushed himself out the door and he nearly stumbled into the moving black car. It swerved around to park in front of his doorstep. Water splashed up from its wheels, but he cleverly dodged it by stepping to the side. The door of the car propped open in greeting with its arrival, and he found himself shaking rain droplets off of himself and moving into the backseat of the car without the help of his chauffeur. He buckled in clumsily and set his wet umbrella against the frame of the door. With a quick glance over to the occupied seat on the left, he saw his personal assistant glancing up from her Blackberry to smile knowingly at him. She was wearing a smart, warm coat over her dress, her legs crossed.

“Big day today, sir,” she commented with a hint of a smirk, “Nervous?”

He sighed uneasily in reply, running his hand through his slightly damp hair. Good god, he had forgotten to comb it. “No need to fuss,” he growled in defense, doing his best to work up his best deadpan face.

She grinned. “I never thought my boss would ever find love.”

“Me neither.” He rose his eyebrows, studying her for a second. After debate, he couldn’t decide on where he would be the moment his timer went off, so he had his closest personal assistant choose for him. “Where are we going?” he asked finally, trying to seem casual.

“I chose a nice cafe in the _heart_ of London,” she responded, pulling out a paper with the address of the location from a folder she carried around. “I think it’s the best bet for you, sir.” She handed it to him, and he looked over it for a second before handing it to the driver in the front of the car.

He sighed. “I have put a lot of faith in you for the past few years, but keep in mind that you’re essentially controlling the rest of my life right now,” he mumbled with a nod to the driver who began to steer the car away from his house. “But quaint place, though. Good.”

They sat in silence as they drove off. All he could think about was what was going to happen. He had mapped out every possible scenario that could happen the very second he had learned the location. Anything could happen, and he had to prepare himself to react properly to each and every one of them. Every important lesson he had learned from his mum associated with appropriate manners and such flipped through his disheveled mind. He was to act nice and friendly and like a gentleman. No matter who the other person was, he had to keep his head leveled and be respectful. This special person was no ordinary stranger or some ambassador - though that might happen.

“I’m not going to change, right?” he said out loud, as if he was speaking to no one in particular. “In just half an hour, my life will be completely different.”

“I hope not,” his personal assistant remarked, “Maybe this person will change you for the better.”

“ _Change._ ” He hated the word. He enjoyed stability, a firm environment, and just to think that he was supposed to have his world turned upside down in just a matter of time was alarming to him. He didn’t want this to affect his work life, but he could feel that it most definitely would. Nervously, he shot a look over at the woman beside him, trying to look at her forearm. “And your time is, again…” he began.

She sighed, understanding, and she showed him her arm. “Six more years,” she said loftily, raising a brow. “Don’t worry, sir, I’m not yours.”

He narrowed his eyes in good humor, but his thudding chest betrayed his anxiety. His fingers drummed thoughtlessly on the edge of the leather seat. He took in a sharp breath and glanced down at his lap. “How… How do I look?” he asked.

“As your PA, I’d say you look handsome.” She watched him move his head back up stare straight ahead, listening to her every word. “But as your friend, I say you look nervous.”

“At least I apparently look _handsome,_ ” he said through his teeth, the muscles in his clenched jaw flexing.

A long silence after, the car was finally slowing down. They were arriving in front of the coffee shop. Dread pooled in his stomach as he focused his hazy gaze out the window, surveying the front of the place. He didn’t dare look under his sleeve to check the ticking clock, but he could almost feel it burning deeper into his skin.

His mouth ran dry as he forced them to move, saying, “I’m not ready.” His face was nearly pressed against the glass of the window.

“I bet whoever it is will be lovely. Do you want me to come in with you?” she suggested.

“No. They might get the wrong idea.” As if remembering, he pulled off the ring from his finger, tucking it into the pocket of his coat. Didn’t want to mislead anyone and seem like a married man.

His assistant reclined back in her seat, pulling the Blackberry close to her face. “Don’t worry, sir, I’ll be waiting here, checking the cameras and reading the background checks.” She grinned once more. “And ready to bust you out of any situation.”

“Good girl,” he said gratefully, unbuckling out of his seat, hand ready on the handle of the door. And biting his bottom lip, he couldn't resist the urge any further, so he ripped down his sleeve and read the numbers on his arm.

_00 y 000 d 00 h 08 m_

“Congratulations to whoever you meet, sir,” she said with a genuine flash of a smile, “They’re a lucky person.”

He rolled his sleeve back up, and he dropped a quiet, “Thank you, Anthea.”

His first few steps out of the car were wobbly and uncertain without his umbrella on the ground to help him across the sidewalk. Instead, it was raised up against the morning sky, shielding him and his expensive suit from the cool, light rain. He resisted the urge to peer inside the shop’s windows, and alternatively, he waited outside in front for a bit, thinking hard to himself as he paced back and forth. His fingers itched to reach into his pocket and pull out a cigarette and a lighter, but he practiced a brief breathing exercise to combat his comfort craving. At last, he closed his umbrella, marking the end of his stay outside, and he opened the door to the cafe.

He didn’t even have to look at his numbers to know how much time there was left. His mind was this clock now, forever ticking until it went off.

_00 y 000 d 00 h 05 m_

Immediately, he took in the room. It was a small cafe with five tables lining one side of the room, and on the other side, there were the little food displays and an empty cashier set on a long, marble counter. Above it hung blackboards with the cafe’s menu written neatly in clear white chalk. Faint music played from an overhanging stereo player in the corner of the room, and a heater ran overhead, pumping warm air into the shop. At the tables, three of the five were full. One table held an elderly couple reading the newspaper, another one had a young business man typing away at a laptop, and the third one had three middle-aged women chatting among each other over biscuits.

Was it possible that any of them were his soulmate? Not the very best pickings, he silently thought, but right after he realized what he was thinking he reprimanded himself in his mind. He shouldn’t be thinking like this - it was wrong, rude, and inconsiderate. But continuing, he did the process of elimination, and he swiftly crossed off the elderly pair. Then, he looked at the young man. Seemed very unlikely that he could be a potential partner, but he could never be certain. But he crossed the man off, too, when he thought to himself, Why would anyone be busy and focused on a laptop when their soulmate was to appear at any given moment? Anyone would be just like himself: frayed, frenzied, and looking lost. At last, he moved on towards the three ladies. It had to be one of them, definitely. There was no one else it could be, unless someone was to barge in at that very moment.

_00 y 000 d 00 h 03 m_

What was he supposed to do? Wait for one of them - _the one_ of them - to notice him? They appeared nice enough. But did _he_ appear nice enough?

He fumbled nervously with the golden chain of his pocket watch inside his coat, twirling it around his bare finger in place of his ring. Well, everything had to start somewhere, he had always firmly believed, and now he pushed himself to speak out. With a deep breath to settle his nerves, he began. “Good morning, ma’ams,” he greeted politely with his best smile, a small, friendly one, “It’s my first time here. What do you recommend trying?”

With his nice tone and gentlemanly demeanor, he caught the three ladies’ attention. They stopped talking and eating to look up at him, and they all smiled happily from their table. The women all wore different variations of similar autumn coats and sweaters, fairly dressed enough for the weather. But the one thing he noticed about their appearance right after his question was the presence of rings on two of the women’s hands and the absence of a ring on one woman’s hand. Marriage rings? Quite likely. So the third woman had to be…

_00 y 000 d 00 h 01 m_

“They make very good cheesecake here,” said the woman without a ring.

His eyes blinked rapidly, and he attempted to keep himself steady. He opened his mouth, albeit a bit too wide. “I, I -” he stammered.

“- So are the lattes,” offered another woman, one of the two with a ring.

He felt his knees weakening under him. This was not a good idea. Maybe he should just duck out and dash. Clearing his throat, he managed a hoarse, “That’s - that’s, uh -”

“- Speaking of cheesecake,” interrupted the second lady with a ring, stretching her neck out to look somewhere behind him, “Where is ours? Miss?” Her voice raised in question as if to call someone.

There was a fast shuffling of feet from behind him, along with a couple of nearly inaudible _Sorry_ ’s and _I’m coming_ ’s muttered quickly and apologetically. He felt himself being brushed away from the three ladies with a large, moving plate of cake. It was orange and creamy, decorated with little frosted drawings of white flowers on top. The cake was set on the table almost a bit too loudly, causing the cups and coffee plates to shake under the heaviness.

“We didn’t order this. We ordered a cheesecake, Miss,” fussed one of the women, pointing at the presented cake in emphasis.

He glanced down to see a small, brown-haired girl wringing her hands around the dark green apron that clung from her neck and waist in neat knots shaped as bows. She wore a pale blue jumper, matched with dark jeggings, and under her layer of clothes she seemed to tremble nervously at the complaint. She opened her mouth several times before settling on, “I’m so sorry, ma’am. W-would you rather have this carrot cake?” The girl seemed set on edge. “I’m really, really sorry for the inconvenience, and if -”

The three ladies exchanged looks, and instead, one of them cut in and said, “- I think we’ll wait for a cheesecake, thank you.”

“Okay, of course. Th - that’s okay.”

As if in a nervous hurry, the girl shook her head quickly to herself and grabbed the carrot cake back up. She reared backwards to turn around, plate in hand, and _he_ had _meant_ to swiftly backtrack to move out of the way.

But a wrong step made by both of them ensued in her crashing straight into his chest, cake and plate and all, throwing him nearly off balance and off his feet. A loud smash of the porcelain plate against the floor sent the two of them reeling in complete shock, and in the whole collision, the carrot cake had flown off the plate and into his open arms. It smacked dully against him in his suit, and with great weight, the cake slid off of his arms and onto the floor. He literally dripped from his sleeves with cake, and he found himself swaying on his unbalanced legs with a combination of shock, anger, and disbelief.

“ _Damn!_ ” he cursed under his breath, shaking and not being able to think soundly at all. Hissing through his teeth, he started scrubbing the leftover waste of the cake off of his sleeves as he shot the most furious, distasteful glare at the girl.

The girl didn’t meet his piercing gaze and she struggled to her feet, helped by the closest lady to her. Her eyes were flown wide open in pure fright, probably from the fear of receiving a painful chastisement from everyone. Immediately, a waterfall of words tumbled out from her mouth, directed to the women. “Oh - oh my god, I am so, very s-sorry about all - all of this,” she whimpered, her hands busy at her apron, “I’ll give you a free cheesecake on me, promise. Uh - uh, I’ll just get this mess cleaned and myself cleaned, and I’ll be back with you.” Her voice rose up and down in a pitiful, squeaky stammer as she started to back away from the table one foot at a time. “A-again, I apologize so much.”

And then, like she just remembered he was here, she turned around and faced him, swallowing back a cry in her throat. “Mister, I’m just really sorry. I’ll try to pay as much for the damage on your suit as possible,” she spluttered miserably. Like a startled deer, her big brown eyes were blinking and quivering far too quickly, and she kept shaking her head back and forth, every shake a self-punch in her gut. She managed a tight smile. “Wh-whatever you order, Mister, it’s on me, too.”

He had stopped seething for a moment, and as she spoke to him, he had become terrifyingly rigid and still in his spot. It was as if his body was shutting down, and he couldn’t speak for a second. Like a beached fish, he croaked, “No - no, it’s no problem.”

The girl stepped back for a moment, holding her head, and to everyone, she cried, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for the scene I’ve caused. It’s - it’s just that I’m supposed to find my soulmate any time today. I covered my arm this morning with this - my sweater - so I couldn’t see the numbers because I didn’t - I didn’t want it to get in the way of work, and I know right now it is, and this is what I was afraid of earlier -” And she broke off into a sob.

The three women, shocked, gave a loud chorus of delighted yells. “Oh goodness, don’t worry, dear,” a woman said to the girl. “Of course not!”

“Miss - miss, please, one second,” he whispered weakly to the girl among the happy shouts from the other people, shutting his eyes briefly.

The girl started to run away from the commotion.  She shot a glance at him with the saddest smile as she promptly hurried off. “Just wait a moment, sorry.”

Quickly, she came back as soon as she left with a handful of napkins in both hands. Straightaway, she dropped to her knees on the ground and began to mop up the cake, but realizing what was most important to clean at the moment, she popped back up to _him_ with some more napkins from her pocket. She pulled them out, stepped towards his frozen body, and swiftly fell among the task of wiping down his drenched sleeves with the napkins.

He literally could have just fallen over.

“Y-yeah?” she asked as brightly as she could. She appeared slightly less terrified than before, once the women had forgiven her. But still, she looked up at him like a cowering animal. “Did you have to say something earlier?”

His stomach churning, he almost fumbled over his failing words. “Excuse me,” he stuttered out loud, his voice louder than he expected it to be so that it carried out and rang out across the shop. Pushing away her hands from his sleeves, she instantly withdrew, and he could sense her eyes following his gaze. In fact, everyone’s eyes were focused on him as he began to draw attention. His chest pounded in the most awful way, and his heart was caught in the back of his throat, the most terrible feeling he had ever felt in forever. Silently, he stared down at his caked sleeves, and with a small, unbelieving laugh, he tore at his left sleeve, yanking it up his arm.

_00 y 000 d 00 h 00 m_

The numbers stopped and screamed at him.

In that mid-second of utter silence, it felt as if the ground beneath their feet would crumble and collapse and as if all of the air in the room was sucked out in one great sweep, and all that remained were two people who had finally found each other.

Suddenly, he couldn’t help but give a quiet, broken, but sincere smile.

“Hello,” was all he said, and he leaned forward and pressed a gentle, chaste kiss on her soft pink cheek. “My pleasure to meet you at last.”

She was still for a moment under his kiss, but that moment passed a second later once he leaned back, and then all of a sudden she was trembling, breathing, growing red. She brought her left arm over and peeled away the sleeve of her sweater to reveal an identical set of numbers as his. Immediately, her small, thin hands flew over her mouth as she bit back something resembling a cry and a gasp.

A round of loud cheering and clapping erupted around the two from the women and the other customers.

But neither of them would enjoy the applause for long. The girl, among all the enthusiasm, ducked past him and the cake on the floor in a hurry, tottering over to the front door and pushing it open against the growing rain outside, escaping into the busy, bustling sidewalk.

_What?_ Questions ran through his mind as he instinctively stumbled and followed her out the shop. “Miss!” he called out after her, anxious. He burst through the door into the cold air and rain, looking both ways onto the sidewalk frantically for her. Spotting the girl standing just a little away from him on the side, he slowed down and walked over beside her, his eyes checking her state and condition.

She was very pretty, he noticed, and very adorable. She was a petite person, with thin, soft brown hair and long eyelashes over sweet, big brown eyes. Despite her awkwardness and clumsiness, he had the weird feeling from after all the craziness inside the cafe that there was a quiet strength that she contained and held inside her, a strength that she used throughout the day to carry on with her work.

She said nothing at all to him, and he thought something was wrong. Carefully, he bent down and opened his umbrella, clicking it open in front of them. It was a nice, elegant umbrella with a fine, smooth wooden handle, and he popped it up and over their heads. The rain dribbled down from the ends of the canopy, and the umbrella saved them from the coming downpour.

Sneaking a look down at her, he could see her face was flushed, and tears, not raindrops, fell from her reddened face. Feeling out of place, he moved his head back up and fixed his gaze straight on some distant point, standing there just as quietly, giving her time to speak. It must’ve been a stressful and overwhelming day for her, he knew, and he could empathize with that. If he had to admit, that very day was enough for him to break down.

She sniveled at last, breaking the silence that hung in the cold air above their heads. “I’m sorry, Mister,” she choked, looking down at the rainwater washing past her feet, “I’ve been so rude and terrible to you, when you seem really, awfully nice.” She brought the crook of her arm to her face, using the sleeve of her jumper to wipe away her watering eyes. “I didn’t mean for any of _this_. What a horrible first impression you must have of silly me.”

_First impression?_ With one glance, he could see everything about her.

He could see that this coffee shop gig was just a part-time job to pay for her flat that she lived alone in with a cat. He could see that most of the time she spent hours at a morgue - probably at the St. Bart’s Hospital. He could see that her jumper and jeggings were new and very recently washed with lots of softener, and it added to the scent of her expensive perfume. And knowing that she needed a second job at the shop, the perfume was most likely rarely used and was given as a gift. And he could see that her hair, now soaked with rain and flecks of cake, was carefully washed and braided for this very occasion, as were many other aspects of her. And that her shoes were not new like her other clothes, as shoes were usually more expensive, and they appeared well-worn, but not aged. So not worn by age, but by lots of walking. And knowing, again, that she had a second job, she most likely walked to and from work every day.

He blinked and tilted his head sideways. “Don’t apologise and don’t cry, Miss. You seem very sweet and nice and pretty to me,” he said simply with a small smile that eased onto his face. “Why don’t you go back inside so you clean yourself up?”

“Thank you, that would be nice,” she said gratefully at last, her eyes drying up. “I would really like to stop and get to know you, but work doesn’t wait, unfortunately,” she said wistfully as if she was inconveniencing everything, “Maybe after my shift is done?”

“What better time than now?” With his other free hand, he went inside the pocket of his coat and took out his phone, checking the screen. He hummed to himself, slightly amused as he read something on it. “Don’t fret about work,” he whistled, “Someone will tend to the customers and clean up the mess in your place. You’re free for the rest of the day. Your morning shift today is from 7am to 1pm, correct?”

She looked very surprised, and she expressed it with a tiny gasp. “How - how’d you know?” she asked.

He didn’t answer her, and instead, he twirled the umbrella above them with his dexterous fingers, shaking off the excess water on top. He paused, perhaps for effect, and then continued. “Would you like to have lunch with me after we clean up?” he suggested lightly with a deliberate smile. “Do not worry too much. I believe my personal assistant has gotten some of your clean clothes in my car, along with some of my own for myself.” He had almost sworn to himself earlier that he wouldn’t scare away his partner and show off with his extensive knowledge, but he just couldn’t help it now.

“ _Your_ personal assistant? _My_ clothes?” She appeared as if she couldn’t believe his words. “I’m sorry to be so outright,” she laughed nervously, stuffing her cold hands into her pocket, “But who are you exactly?”

“Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes, work in a minor position of the British government,” he replied, and with a playfully-wry grin-slash-grimace, he added, “More importantly, your soulmate.”

Embarrassed, she blushed at his statement. “My - _croft_ , is it? Mycroft?” she questioned, her voice high and flustered, but she seemed to pick up the genuine thoughtfulness in his voice, and she visibly relaxed. Did she like him? It was too early to say, but the timers were never wrong, and she looked at least comfortable in his presence. But did _he hope_ she did? “I’m - I’m Molly Hooper. And, ah, yes, lunch would be fine.”

“Yes, that’s perfect, Miss Hooper.” The way she said his name was kind of nice, and vice versa. He managed a laugh. “Let’s go clean up, okay?”

“Oh, yes, okay,” she responded with a nod and a little smile. “Again, I’m sorry about the whole carrot cake ordeal.”

“Carrot cake is my favorite type of cake,” he murmured, raising his eyebrows at her.

“Red velvet is my favorite type!” she exclaimed back, but she stopped herself. “Oh goodness, I’m acting like a kid,” she apologized, “And I think I’ve had a little too much about cake by now.”

He was amused. He liked her, she was quite endearing in a cute way when she got a little excited. “You have good taste, Ms. Hooper, I have to say,” he complimented. He offered his arm, still covered in cake, to her, ready to lead them to his waiting car that stood out in the rain. “But let’s go now, yes? And I promise our lunch will consist of no cake at all.”

* * *


End file.
